Thursday, May 10, 2007
The Insomniac's Ironic Meditations
The darkness of early ante meridiem permeates the walls of my room as I engage in practicing for the quiet. Outside, there are only leaf-rustles and distant dogfights to punctuate the calm, but inside the frantic splashing of a thousand thoughts swimming in the stream of consciousness is enough to keep me from dancing with Somnos. I divert myself into un-gasping breaths: inhaling enough for a pearl hunter's morning dive, yet releasing the air before the thought of so selfishly holding it in has occurred in one long lung-purge. Feel the prana that accumulates in your breath, up your nostrils, into your mouth, diffusing into your blood to drive the negative energies of the psychical tormentors away. Repeat for every swimmer in the stream, until the waters flow freely through the fissura longitudinalis cerebri once again. But the forsaken thoughts have exacted revenge on me by the time my catharsis is complete. Inside, there is only the calming flow of a clear stream, but outside the dawn arrives, ushered in by heraldic cockerels and prophetic tailpipe monoxides.Silence is only relative to the faintest sound in one's ear.
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